The Last Autumn
by Cuaglar
Summary: The story of the last King of Narnia, and of his struggle against the White Witch.
1. Chapter 1: Rumours of Evil

A/N: Since I've hit a temporary hiatus with the Mungo series, I decided to let out my blocked literary urges by writing a Narnia fanfic. It will, I think, be in a more serious vein than the Mungo stuff, (or, as I call it, the Mungo Stuff) but a flexible writer is an… erm… more-intelligent-person-than-me-obviously writer, eh?

The Last Autumn

Chapter 1: Rumours of Evil

The castle of Cair Paravel shone in the early morning sun as a Stag ran through the empty courtyard. His passage was unheeded, because most of the residents were still asleep. However, early as it was, the only Son of Adam in the castle, the King of Narnia, was already awake and attending to the matters presented to him.

King Eldred was old; his once bright red hair had turned grey, and a long beard grew on his chin. He had once been a bold, energetic young man, quick with a joke and quicker with a laugh. His skill with his sword had been so refined, his friends and courtiers called his sword by the same name as their King.

He was wiser now, but his old bones ached, and his eyesight was worsening. His laughter was stilled, for he had grim business in his old age.

King Eldred was the last of the line of King Frank and Queen Helen. He had once been married, but his beloved wife had died long ago, along with their infant son. There were not many other humans left in Narnia either, mostly farmers or woodsmen who lived in isolated family homesteads. And they were becoming less and less, thanks to the ill news that came nearly weekly. Strange deaths or disappearances, sightings of hags or werewolves, even, supposedly, the emergence of giants from the North made many men feel that their families were safer in Archenland to the south.

Thus it was that King Eldred looked in weariness and sorrow upon the messenger of the latest news, Twigwithers the Stag. The young stag trotted up the stairs to the dais where King Eldred sat on his throne, and meekly bowed to the King.

"Your Majesty, I bring news from all the reaches of your kingdom, but principally from the Lantern Waste. I bring tidings from Grit the Badger and Altibrikk the Dwarf that a pack of werewolves has definitely been seen in the eaves of the forest, north of the lamp-post."

King Eldred lifted his gaze to meet the Stag's.

"When?" He asked in a hoarse voice.

"They said they saw the werewolves the night before last, Your Majesty. They had been waiting for me to come to deliver the news to you."

The King stood up out of his chair, his thin hands reaching for a richly carved oak staff. He walked over to a nearby window that looked out upon the Sea. Twigwithers trotted beside him, his dainty hooves clicking on the stone tiles.

After a long silence, the King suddenly leapt into action. He turned sharply from the window, and gestured Twigwithers to follow him.

"We have sat idle for too long! It is clear to me now. I have let this terror hang over Narnia, but I shall remove it. Twigwithers, you must go and tell Areto to gather a force of centaurs and dwarves, equipped for battle. Then you must go back to the Lantern Waste, and tell the people dwelling there to keep watch in the wood for the werewolves, and tell them we are coming with aid. We shall end this menace now, or not at all!" King Eldred growled as he strode from the throne room, his staff hitting the floor with clamorous bangs.

Twigwithers looked slightly alarmed as he said, "Yes, Your Majesty," and ran off, but King Eldred paid him no mind. He grabbed some keys from a hook next to the door to the throne room, and strode through the passageways to the Treasure Room.

Along the way, he felt exalted. His blood was racing; he had not felt this excited or invigorated for thirty years! King Eldred almost laughed, but then, like a curtain falling over his face, he remembered that he also had not fought in battle for thirty years. Thirty long, peaceful years, now becoming undone.

King Eldred halted, and almost leaned against the wall in grief. Why had war come, now in his old age? By the Lion's Mane, why?

The aged monarch steeled himself, and went on his way. He had set things in motion, and it was up to him to finish it. First in every charge, last in every retreat. But oh, how weary he was!

King Eldred reached the treasure room, and went through the keys in his hand. Some were gold and ornate; some were rusty iron and plain. Finally, King Eldred found a dwarf-made key, wrought of gold with red stones set in the wider part of the key. It was not the thought of the magnificent treasures that lay behind that made his hand shake as he put the key to the keyhole, but the thought of what he needed in there for.

The King flung the door wide open and entered. His eyes didn't stray to look at the brilliant jewels scattered carelessly helter-skelter upon the floor, nor of the gleaming mounds of gold, or the tables littered with jewelry or ornate armor. King Eldred's gaze was instead fixed upon a suit of armor at the end of the chamber.

It was a suit of dwarf-made mail, with steel wrist guards etched with trees and strange beasts, and tall steel riding boots rested by the bottom of the stand. On two tables on either side of the armor were his shield and sword. His shield was painted blue with a silver tree and a gold tree on either side of a large green tree, which symbolized the free Narnia sky, the Trees of Silver and Gold, and, of course, the Tree of Protection. King's Eldred's sword was plain, a long steel sword with black leather wrapped around the handle. The only decoration on the sword was an image of a lion etched on the blade. Though his subjects called the sword Eldred, the King gave it a secret name that he told no one. There was no helm, because, as King Eldred had boasted in his youth, "If my sword and shield cannot defend my head, I don't deserve to keep it."

King Eldred stood before the armor, remembering the last occasion he had had to wear it. It had been a dark winter, thirty years ago. Various subjects had reported it on the north that a force of wretched creatures had been gathering, and was preparing an invasion. There had also been tales of a tall, white being, beautiful but cold and deadly like a shard of ice. King Eldred had not known what they meant by this at the time, but he would soon find out.

He had gathered his forces and met the incursion in the plains between the eaves of the Lantern Waste and the Ettinsmoor Mountains. The battle had been strange, with the scent of the Tree of Protection pervading through the air like the memory of a happy spring centuries ago. The fair smell seemed to repel the invaders, and it seemed to greatly weaken the White Witch.

Oh, King Eldred had seen her. She was everything the rumours had declared: Beautiful and white as snow, but starkly terrifying, cold, and ruthless. She fought with only a knife and a long, golden wand, but she had done terrible things with it. With a wave of her wand, she could change a faun's hooves into great, clumsy horse-hooves, tripping him, or cause a warrior to break out in horrible, stinging boils. When the smell of the Tree of Protection reached her, however, she recoiled, and immediately called a retreat.

Of course, in those days, Narnia was so peaceful that the grand victory feast was remembered more than the battle. But the memory of the terror of the White Witch stayed fresh in King Eldred's mind.

King Eldred shook his head. A voice spoke up at his side, close to his knees.

"It's hard going to war again, isn't it?"

King Eldred looked down to his right, and saw a very old Dogfox. He had been King Eldred's staunch companion for years, from his youth to his old age. His fur had been redder than the King's, but now it too was silvering.

"Yes, Fenleaf. But it must be done." The King sighed. He shed his robe and set it to one side.

"But why take several dozen troops? Surely you don't need that many just for a pack of werewolves." Fenleaf said in a reasonable voice.

King Eldred didn't answer for a while as he slid the mail shirt over his tunic. But eventually, he turned to the dogfox and said,

"I think it is more than that, Fenleaf. I believe that the White Witch is involved. I believe she is trying to return to Narnia."

"Ha! The Tree has kept her out for thousands of years! What makes her think she'll get in now?" Fenleaf laughed.

"She tried in our youth, friend." King Eldred reminded Fenleaf. He slid on the wrist guards and started to tighten them.

"Oh, yes, yes." Fenleaf muttered, the memory welling up. He trotted around in a little circle, as if thinking, and asked,

"Are you sure you have enough troops, then?"

"I am sure. The Witch has very few followers, because we have done our best to keep that wretched brood out of Narnia, and, if possible, to drive them to the West. Not the North." King Eldred said. A thought struck him. "Not the North. Oh, by the Lion, please not North!"

The King's movements grew feverish as he put on his boots.

"Not the North! Not the North!" He kept muttering.

"You suspect some of them made their way North, sire?"

"Yes, blast them! I should have foreseen it; driving them out was not the right thing. We should have beaten out that malevolent, evil spark when we had the chance!" With one last tug, King Eldred pulled on his left boot and stood up.

"You are too old and too small to go with me. I ask you, as I asked you last time, to be my regent while I'm gone. You will have little to trouble you, as the trouble will follow me." King Eldred said, drawing his sword.

"I will take good care of Cair Paravel during your absence, Your Majesty." Fenleaf said, kneeling.

King Eldred touched the dogfox's shoulder with the tip of his sword, and then quickly sheathed it.

"I have much to do. Take care of the castle, and the affairs of Narnia! To the West!" The King cried as he left the Treasure Room.

As he walked through the halls in his mail, his shield strapped on his back, his boots ringing on the floor tiles, maids and servants peered through doorways after him, and a buzz of whispered conversations echoed in the corridors. King Eldred paid them no mind, except for a small, weary smile that didn't reach his eyes. The mail was heavy on his old shoulders, but not as heavy as the thought of war.

Finally, he came out onto a balcony overlooking the courtyard. He saw his general, Areto the Faun, organizing the centaurs and dwarves into traveling companies. Other fauns ran to and fro, carrying provisions, weapons, and various pieces of equipment. King Eldred stood silently, watching the proceedings. Finally, when they seemed to be fully prepared, King Eldred started speaking. From the first word, his small army paid rapt attention, watching their ancient king with respect and interest.

"Friends! Today, we march to the West to finish a deed that was left unaccomplished for thirty years. We have had thirty long years of peace, but now I must call upon you to remember the times of war. Now I must ask you to remember the strength of your arms, and the strength of steel. For today starts what may well be the series of events that decide the fate of Narnia for years, perchance centuries to come.

"For we go against one of the most treacherous and dangerous foes of our time. The White Witch has returned from the North, with what designs I can only guess. She was the first evil of this world, and will remain an evil forever unless we encounter her now, and drive her from this land, and rid this world of her wickedness! Who has the bravery to do this task with me? Who has the bravery amongst you?"

A deep-throated roar of "I!" came from the centaurs and dwarves in the courtyard below.

"Then let the Witch beware, for King Eldred rides forth with stalwart companions!" King Eldred shouted. Horns blew, and trumpets rang out as King Eldred came down from the balcony by the stairs that ran down from one side. Areto held his brown horse ready for him, and King Eldred mounted his steed, with a brief word of thanks to his general. He rode to the front of the company, by the gate, and drew his sword.

"Forward, the free Narnians!" He shouted hoarsely, and rode through the gate of Cair Paravel. His small army followed him out, banners streaming out behind.

A small group of Narnians stood on the walls of Cair Paravel, bidding the departing host farewell. Flower petals fluttered on the breeze, but the wind was coming from the west, so they floated out to the Sea.

King Eldred did not look back at the castle, but he was glad he was at the front of the column and none could see him, for his face was wracked with grief.


	2. Chapter 2: A Journey Through Narnia

The Last Autumn

Chapter 2: A Journey Through Narnia

King Eldred and his company walked through an awakening Narnia. It was the time when many people were starting to eat breakfast, or going out onto the lawn to start gardening, or just traipsing through the hills, taking in the fresh morning breeze and sun. The King's company was hailed merrily, these pleasantly ignorant folk presuming that they were going to some grand tournament or feast. King Eldred felt great joy for them that they didn't know of the troubles that disturbed the peace to the North and to the West.

However, the swift, determined pace of the King soon left the fairly well-inhabited lands near Cair Paravel, and entered the slightly more wild country. Here there were rolling green hills, but not many homes. Herds of Talking Horses roamed this region, but the company didn't meet any that day. The King led his force by the Great River for the most part, because it kept the soft sound of the Sea closer to King Eldred's ears, in his mind at least. The rest of the company enjoyed traveling by the river because of the glorious, beautiful things that grew along the way. Willows draped over it, cat-tails shot out beside it, and in calmer parts lilies absolutely blanketed the water.

They didn't stop until near dusk, dwarves and centaurs being hardy folk and not needing many rests. King Eldred had not eaten any real lunch, just some cold chicken during the midday rest. King Eldred tied his horse to a willow with a long rope so that he could graze a wide radius, and the company set camp. Small white tents sprouted up like strangely shaped mushrooms in the gathering dusk, and some energetic younger dwarves helped King Eldred pitch his tent. It went along the lines of the color scheme of his shield, blue with silver and golden trees embroidered along the sides.

The King didn't retire yet, however, because he had matters to discuss with Areto. He found his tent, a slightly garish affair of red and green. King Eldred entered the tent, stooping slightly to clear the tent roof.

Areto was standing on the far side of a camp table littered with maps of various regions and areas of Narnia, most prominent being a map of Lantern Waste. Areto was far younger than the King, and, indeed, had never actually been in a full-fledged battle, but he had shown great imagination and courage in a small skirmish against some giants that came from the North fifteen years ago. Since then he had studied all the old books on war, and had trained very hard in swordsmanship, occasionally being tutored by the King himself. King Eldred liked to think of Areto as a wise head on lamb's feet, and so trusted him enough to make him general of all his forces. Even though his advisors had all suggested that a human or centaur would do better for the post, the King had nevertheless supported young Areto.

The Faun bowed as King Eldred entered, and gestured at his maps.

"I was just studying the locale. This is merely for appearances, understand, I know the Lantern Waste like the back of my hand. I grew up there, and I knew almost every tree by its bark, every hillock by the texture under my hooves."

"Excellent. The White Witch may very well attack in the forest, as her strength lies in numbers and fear, and in a dark, close forest, numbers are very fearful indeed." King Eldred said as he leaned over the map.

Areto fidgeted nervously for a second, and then asked,

"Is it true that we're going against the White Witch? It doesn't seem plausible, it's like fighting a legend, in a sense."

"If she is a legend, then I have conquered myths. You weren't there, at the battle many years ago. Many of the centaurs and dwarfs here were present, and they'll eagerly testify that the White Witch is no legend." King Eldred said, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he studied the map. "What is Bevers?"

"Oh, that's supposed to be 'Beavers,' sir. A very respectable family in these parts, gave me sweets every Christmas, when I was young, sir." Areto explained.

"Have you thought of a strategy, Areto?" King Eldred said, changing the subject.

"Yes, several, sir."

"Excellent. Elaborate, please."

"Well, sir, I think it would be best to first try to root out the werewolves in the woods, and then try to engage her outside of the eaves of the forest. Centaurs aren't very comfortable fighting where they can't gallop easily, see. If we need to fight the Witch in the forest, we can perhaps engage her with centaurs at one flank, and maneuver the dwarfs to the other. However, the Tree of Protection is right in the middle of the woods, so I don't think she'll move her forces there. I believe the Witch will go along the river, from the Mountains. It's highly possible that she will have giants, so I took the precaution of making sure that every dwarf is armed with a bow and many arrows."

King Eldred pondered for a few minutes, his brow furrowed with concentration. Finally he nodded.

"That makes sense. Of course, no plan escapes contact with the enemy, it is said. I think we should try to recruit some of the natives in the Waste."

"No real sense in that, sir. The folk around here aren't trained for war, they're soft folk with simple lives and simple pleasures." Areto said.

"Very well. We'll just have to make due with what we have." King Eldred said. He straightened up, his head brushing the cloth of the tent roof. A thought suddenly struck him.

"What of the Wolves?" he asked.

"The werewolves?" Areto asked, confused.

"No, the Talking Wolves. Would they join us?"

"Can't say, sir. Actually, I haven't heard from them for quite a while. But they generally keep to themselves in most matters. I wouldn't really worry about them, sometimes they haven't communicated with Cair Paravel for weeks, only to show up with important or pleasant news suddenly and unexpectedly."

King Eldred considered this, and said,

"Very well. I would like you to send a messenger anyway, perhaps a Robin or Squirrel. I remember Fleetoak lived somewhere close by."

"No, not anymore, her tree got struck by lightning last summer, sir. But I'll contact her sometime tomorrow, sir."

"Excellent. I'll take my leave now, Areto. Good evening," King Eldred said, walking out of the tent.

The news about the Wolves troubled the King slightly. He'd had good relations with the Wolves for years, especially with their chief, Grim-maw. But somehow, King Eldred felt that the Wolves always viewed themselves as an independent entity within Narnia, and he couldn't be fully confident about their allegiance until the King had word from them. Most troubling indeed…

King Eldred retired to his tent, setting his mail shirt to one side but keeping his sword and shield close at hand. He went to sleep slowly, all the things he had done, said, and learned today swirling inside his mind like some kind of thunderstorm. At last, he drifted off to sleep to the sound of his centaurs and dwarfs singing a dryad song, about trees and flowers. It told of the wonderful reign of plants in the summer, and of the decay in autumn, the long rest in winter, and the glorious reawakening in the spring. It was a very soothing song, and very soon the King was fast asleep.

In the morning, King Eldred woke up early and took his time eating breakfast, because the centaurs were taking their time eating theirs. He sat outside his tent on a campstool, quietly eating a bowl of plain porridge as he looked over his camp. The King had put on his mail shirt the first thing in the morning, to get more used to its substantial weight, so he glittered faintly in the morning sun.

His worries about the Wolves had not lessened during the night. But King Eldred knew that all he could do was wait until he could send a message to them and receive a reply.

Finally, he received word that the centaurs had finished their breakfast and were breaking camp. The dwarves who helped King Eldred pitch his tent last night now aided him in the task of taking it down. The tent was fashioned in a cunning way, so that it took up no more space than a saddlebag when not in use.

He was walking to his horse when he suddenly realized something. He had left his oak staff at Cair Paravel, yet here he was walking, and riding, in a mail shirt nonetheless. In fact, he had not used his staff since he started preparing this strike against the White Witch. King Eldred thought about this as he mounted his horse. Perhaps he had just been letting the ill news of his reign way down upon him, until he cast it off when he decided to do something about it… Or perhaps there was something stranger happening.

These thoughts were driven from King Eldred's mind as he rode around the camp, supervising the breaking of camp. However, it was almost finished anyway, and soon the King and his company were on their way again.

Today, feeling that speed was of the essence, the King asked the company to move at a smarter pace. They trotted and jogged for a period, then walked for another, and resumed trotting. Before long they were glad of the brisk autumn breezes coming from the west, blowing in their faces and cooling them down.

By about mid-afternoon the company reached the borders of the Lantern Waste. It was colder here than at Cair Paravel, but that was because the castle was on the shore, and had regular warm east breezes.

As they rode under the first trees, King Eldred sent for Areto. When Areto approached, the King realized his folly. Dwarfs and centaurs may travel swiftly without complaint, but fauns were of a lighter build, and more frail. Areto looked absolutely exhausted, but gamely saluted the King and tried to keep from panting.

"Come, friend! I would not have pressed the company thus, if I had known the toll it would take on you. Why did you not speak up?" The King said as he dismounted and placed the faun in the saddle.

"Speed… is of the essence, sir… Didn't want… to slow you down…" Areto said, pausing for breaths.

King Eldred took the reigns of his horse and led him on foot.

"I am sorry, Areto. I was going to ask you to go look for Fleetoak, but since you are weary-"

"There is no need to search and look for Fleetoak, your Majesty, Fleetoak is here!" said a voice in the boughs overhead. After a faint sound of rustling leaves, a black furry streak ran down the trunk of a nearby tree and stopped at the feet of the King. Looking up at King Eldred was a large squirrel, about three feet high. She had dusky black fur, which was groomed carefully.

"Fleetoak is here, your Majesty!" The Squirrel said in a high-pitched voice, but not a quick-paced squeaky one.

"Ah, we had need of you." King Eldred. "We have an errand for you to run."

"Anywhere in the woods, the feet of Fleetoak do not touch the fallen leaves. Out of the woods, Fleetoak is just a black mouse with nowhere to go." Fleetoak responded.

"I would like you to take a message to the Talking Wolves. I think they are laired near Cauldron Pool, at this time of year." The King said.

"Fleetoak knows where Wolves live, your Majesty. What is the message?"

"Hmm… Please wait for a minute or so." The King turned to Areto, who had recuperated somewhat.

"Move on with the company, and make camp near the Tree of Protection. That will be our temporary base of operations. I will meet you later."

"Perhaps I should leave a small guard with you, sir, against the chance that you run into the werewolves." Areto protested, scrabbling down from the saddle.

"Darkness is the werewolf's friend, and their might is diminished in the bright sunlight. I do not fear them during the day," King Eldred said. "Go on ahead."

"Very well, sir. Good-bye!" Areto said, trotting off to the company. Distantly, King Eldred could hear him yelling orders.

The King turned to his horse, and started rummaging in a saddlebag. Finally, he found a piece of paper, a vial of ink, and a goose-feather quill. He sat Indian-style on the grass, his shield on his knees, and started writing;

Greetings to Grim-maw, Chief of the Wolves,

His Royal Majesty, King Eldred I, Emperor of the Lone Islands, bids you greetings, and well-wishing. His Royal Majesty has gone to war against the White Witch, a foe of dreadful might. His Royal Majesty, in his position as King of Narnia, bids you to hasten to the Tree of Protection and join him in his effort against his Enemy, for the might of the Wolves is not easily forgotten. His Royal Majesty will look forward to the visist, and would greatly reward any aid given unto him.

Your faithful Companion, and Loyal Friend,

Eldred, King of Narnia

King Eldred rolled it up and handed it to Fleetoak, who carefully clutched it in her little claws.

"Take this to Grim-maw, and either wait for a message or, if none is forthcoming, flee for your life." King Eldred said.

Fleetoak looked puzzled.

"The Wolves have always been good neighbors, your Majesty. I'm sure they will come to your aid."

"I hope so. Now go, and swift be your journey." King Edlred said. He watched Fleetoak bound away through the trees until she was out of sight, and then mounted his horse and went on his way.

Author's Note: I hope Grim-maw's name doesn't remind the reader too much of Gramma; I just wanted to forge a small connection between the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and my story (e.g.; Maugrim-Grim-maw.) Grim-maw has absolutely, positively nothing to do with Maugrim. Nothin'. The reader has my word! Honest! Stop smirking like that.


	3. Chapter 3: Under the Leaves

The Last Autumn

Chapter 3: Under the Leaves

King Eldred rode slowly through the trees, taking in the many colors. It had been many years since he had last seen the Lantern Waste in fall, and he regretted it. Gold, red, and orange leaves were everywhere; still hopefully clinging to the tree branches, drifting lazily down to the earth, or littering the ground like one enormous, crackling rug. The leaves made an absolutely wonderful sound as King Eldred's horse waded through them, and the King's thoughts turned away from war for a while and to merrier things. For example, what happened to the dead leaves when winter came? Did they just lie under the snow, slowly becoming next year's soil? Or were they blown away on the bitter winter winds, to some unknown destination? King Eldred mourned that, being as old as he was, he still did not know many things and wonders of the world.

A chill wind smote him from the north, and he was shaken back into the reality of war. Evening was still a few hours off, but the King decided to make a good pace and try to get to the camp to post sentries and scouts. Areto was a competent enough general to have done that already, but King Eldred liked to keep Areto on his hooves and to oversee his work.

Finally, just as the sun was beginning to touch the treetops to the east, King Eldred rode into the camp. No sentries had challenged his entrance, but that was to be expected, him being their King.

In the camp, the dwarfs and centaurs hurried hither and thither, preparing to make the camp a bit more permanent. Barricades made of dead branches were being erected around the encampment, and small trenches were being dug by forever-eager Moles, who had volunteered for the task. The most prominent of the whole scene was the Tree of Protection, which towered over the tents like some kind of aged matriarch looking over her grandchildren. Despite being depicted as green on King Eldred's shield, it was really a far more… enchanting hue. Though it had not brought forth fruit for many, many years, since before King Eldred's time, the memory of the silver apples that once dangled from its bows seemed to give the tree a silvery, glistening texture amongst the vivid green of its leaves. Those leaves had never fallen in the autumn, and snow never seemed to lay on it for very long. It was, by far, the most wonderful tree in the entire world.

King Eldred breathed in deeply, taking in the Tree's delicious fragrance. It lightened his heart to smell it, and wafted away his worries about battle and war like a soft breeze.

But this peaceful interlude was not to last. Areto came running up to him, and looked very excited, but worried.

"Your Majesty! Grit the Badger and Altibrikk the Dwarf have arrived, and are waiting for you in your tent! Gundr, take His Majesty's horse, you must come at once!" Areto said anxiously.

King Eldred did not say anything as he handed a dwarf the reins of his horse, but said as he dismounted,

"Do they bring tidings of the werewolves?"

"I don't know, sir, but I expect so!" Areto answered.

The two hustled through the camp to the western end, where King Eldred's tent had been set up. As King Eldred entered the tent, he saw a young badger, just barely reached adulthood it seemed, and a Black Dwarf. They bowed as the King entered, but immediately launched into speech after they straightened up.

"Your Majesty, the werewolves were seen yesterday, running north!" The Badger said, rubbing his claws together.

"They've seen something, they're spies!" Growled the Dwarf.

"You must stop them!"

King Eldred flapped his hands in gesticulation to get Altibrikk and Grit (for those were who the Dwarf and the Badger were) to calm down. He drew a deep breath, and launched into an old recital:

"'They are hunger. They are thirst. They can fast a hundred years, and not die. They can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze. They can drink a river of blood and not burst. They are the third enemy.' These creatures are formidable foes, and I would hesitate to go against them in the dark. When, and where, were they seen?"

"A bit south-east of the Lamp-post, yesterday evening." Altibrikk said, gesturing a bit with his right hand.

"They might have seen our camp yesterday, then, on the banks of the Great River. Our lights were bright, and the campfire smoke tall. Werewolves are not like dwarfs, however, and cannot run for a day and a night," Here in King Eldred's speech, Altibrikk grinned beneath his bushy beard with pride, "Also, the sunlight weakens them. Tomorrow, I'll ride out as swift as I can with centaurs and dispatch them in the bright noon sun. But tonight, I can't ask my company to do anything tonight, for we have journeyed far and fast, and we are weary."

Altibrikk looked disappointed, but Grit nodded understandingly.

"That's what I said to him. 'The King's going to have had a hard journey by the time he gets here, they won't be able to do anything.'"

"No, but I am glad you came. Why do you not stay in the camp for the night? I think the centaurs and dwarfs are preparing their supper." King Eldred invited them.

"No, thank you, Your Majesty. Our homes are not too distant." Said Altibrikk. He bowed again, and exited the tent without a further word. Grit smiled apologetically, bowed, and followed the dwarf out.

After they left, King Eldred turned to Areto and said,

"Areto, this evening before you go to sleep, I need you to go amongst the centaurs and find the… let's see… twenty swiftest. Tell them to go to sleep early, and get a lot of rest. They'll need their strength tomorrow."

"Should I tell them we are going against werewolves tomorrow, sir?" Asked Areto.

"Absolutely. A good King is as frank with all his subjects as he is with his closest friends. Now go; I must rest now."

Areto bowed and exited, and King Eldred sat on his cot. He sat thus for a long time, barely moving except for the drumming of his fingers on the hilt of his sword, still at his side. Suddenly, he drew it and looked at the blade. After holding it in the air for a few minutes, he slowly extracted a whetstone out of a pouch on his belt, and, as if the action was a ritual, started sharpening the blade.

When Areto returned early the next morning, he found King Eldred asleep on his cot, the naked blade of his sword across his chest and the whetstone lying on the ground. The King was still in his armour.

Areto quietly walked over to his sleeping King, and gently pushed his shoulder. King Eldred woke up with a rather undignified snort, looked wildly around, and focused on Areto.

"What time is it?" He asked. He noticed his unsheathed sword, and quickly put it back in its scabbard.

"Early morning; the sun has just peeped between the tree-trunks." Areto answered. "I've prepared the centaurs, they are eating their second course."

"Very good, very good. I will be out presently." The King said, valiantly stifling a yawn. He picked his whetstone from the ground and restored it to its pouch.

Areto bowed and left the tent, and King Eldred stood up. His bones were aching, and he started to regret leaving his staff in Cair Paravel. However, a waft of air blew in through the tent door, bearing the odor of the Tree of Protection on it. It invigorated the old man, and seemed to do away with his aches and pains like a gentle, warm bath.

After he had eaten a very quick breakfast of a bowl of gruel, King Eldred strode from his tent. He saluted the Tree as he passed it, as its leaves caught the first rays of the new day.

The centaurs were assembling outside of the east entrance of the camp. They had apparently just finished eating; King Eldred could see a few of them hurriedly wiping a few stray bits of food away from their mouths.

As usual, Areto was standing nearby, giving orders while he held King Eldred's horse. The ancient King mounted wordlessly, and turned to his small force.

"Today, your courage and your stamina will be tested to its utmost. You shall run harder today than you have probably ever run. And as you run, I want you to remember why you have such haste. We go to meet servants of the White Witch, the werewolves for whom we launched this expedition. Though we go in sunlight, they are still terrible enemies. I must ask each and every one of you to be on your guard, and watch yourself and your companions.

Your general, Areto, handpicked you as the swiftest centaurs under my command. Prove yourselves of Areto's choice, and keep pace! Race the wind!"

The King turned his horse about, and rode off towards the south. With a roar of joy and battle-lust, the centaurs galloped after him, making a thundering noise as their hooves struck the earth. Areto waved them from the camp, it was understood that he was in charge of it until the King's return.

The King led his force south, but after a few minutes of hard galloping swerved to the south-west. Several Talking Beasts peered out of their well-hidden homes in wonder and curiosity as the grim-faced group rushed past, set on their goal.

King Eldred had always enjoyed riding. Even today, with the prospect of death and devastation ahead of him, he couldn't help but give a small smile of exhilaration. The horse had been a gift from the distant Tisroc of Tashbaan, and a rich gift it had been. The horse's swift, easy gait threatened to leave even the swiftest centaurs behind. However, though the King respected the beast immensely, he had vowed never to give it a name, because of the breach of honor the Tisroc committed mere days after the presentation.

Soon the company came upon the werewolves' track. It wasn't easily missed; they had unique footprints, being an elongated claw sort of mark. The centaurs who were more skilled in woodcraft ran along with the King, pointing out tracks to each other and King Eldred so they wouldn't get sidetracked from the path.

They rode along the trail, until, quite suddenly, it stopped in a clearing surrounded by large oak trees. The footprints led right to the center of the glade, and seemed to simply vanish into the earth.

The centaurs trickled into the grove, looking about them warily at the trees. Several of them drew their swords.

King Eldred dismounted and studied the tracks. He had not been an avid hunter in his heyday, but he knew enough about tracks to be suspicious. These had a seemingly artificial and purposeful print, as though the werewolves had taken special pains to make them noticed. Suddenly he knelt and brushed aside some dead leaves. There, formerly hidden, was a werewolf print, facing the east of the grove. He looked up into the trees, and started. Staring back at him was a pair of sinister red eyes!

He drew his sword and shouted,

"Werewolves! The werewolves are surrounding us!" But it was too late.

For those unacquainted with werewolves, they would say their most distinctive sound is their howl. This is not the case. In reality, their most memorable sound is a deep, growling moan, which seems to come from the ravished bowels of the earth. This is called the Wolfchant, and it inspires intense fear in the hearts of those who hear it.

This is what King Eldred and his warriors heard. Steel rang as swords were drawn hastily, and as the Wolfchant sounded from the trees around them. Round and round it seemed to go, once, twice, three times the Chant ran around the clearing. Then, loud and clear, a horrible, grey voice called out,

"Attack! Tear their throats out for the White One!"

Horrible grey shaped leapt from the eaves of the trees, completely surrounding the King's force. Battle had begun!

Author's note: Sorry this took so long to put up; I get easily distracted by all the wonderful things the Internet has to show us. E.g, I was wasting my time giggling (yes, giggling!) at such web-comics as Beaver and Steve, the Order of the Stick, and Two Lumps.

But now I'm liberated, because we had to move and our new dock doesn't provide Internet, so I'm free to write. By the time you read this, of course, the Internet will be back in our household, but it wasn't when I was writing this. You're lucky I have a lot of spare time on my hands, or you would have been left with this chapter and a cliff-hanger.

Also, I don't mean to disparage you werewolf fans about the Wolfchant. It's completely made up by me; of course their howl is almost their trademark.


	4. Chapter 4: Battle!

The Last Autumn

Chapter 4: Battle!

As the werewolves emerged from the trees, things became frantic and confused. Centaurs ran to and fro, hurriedly drawing their swords and cursing, and almost trampling their King. King Eldred quickly mounted his horse again and shouted,

"Form a ring! Form a defensive ring!" But by then the werewolves had reached the fringe of King Eldred's forces, and snarls and growls came from the embattled creatures. Steel flashed as the centaurs desperately tried to fight their assailants, but the werewolves had the advantage of surprise, and the fear and disorder that comes from it. King Eldred organized the centaurs nearby him into a ring formation, and then spread them outward to go to the relief of their companions. He went himself to where the centaurs were worst off, over on the left flank. There he saw the werewolves for the first time for ten years.

They looked much like regular wolves, only their eyes had an intense ferocity and intelligence, and their paws were longer, and had sharp claws. They put these to devastating effect, along with their long, yellow fangs against King Eldred's force. Sword blades lifted and lowered in fierce strokes as the centaurs tried to beat them off, with only middling success.

The King came into the fray, sword whirling and flashing in the sun so it created an illusion of a web of shining silver wreathing around King Eldred. A werewolf spotted him, and leapt forward, believing this stray human to be easy prey.

The King did not so much as blink as he quickly pulled his horse to the right and slashed at the passing werewolf. All regret of war and battle had passed; now he only felt the thrill of the melee. His heart was singing war songs, his horse's hooves sounded out battle drums, the whistling of his blade was the only trumpet he needed.

With the onset of King Eldred, the werewolves faltered for a moment. Then, with a short howl, they suddenly withdrew from combat and fled back to the forest.

King Eldred quickly looked around the battlefield, panting slightly. Many werewolves, maybe six or seven, had fallen, but two of his centaurs were also dead. Several more had bad bites on their legs or flanks.

Suddenly, he was denied time to think again as the werewolves poured out the trees again, having circled around to the right this time, away from the King.

"Fall back! Try to lure them out of the woods! Fall back!" King Eldred shouted, even as he ran toward the battle. First in every charge, last in every retreat.

His centaurs reacted surprisingly quickly, the ones near the rear turning completely around and galloping away while the ones in the battle fought harder to try to drive the werewolves off to get some breathing space. King Eldred joined the centaurs at the front, fighting with all his might. But the werewolves fought doggedly, refusing to back up a mere inch.

Suddenly, the centaurs who had been falling back came around again, galloping around the skirmish from the right and left wings. They ran around the werewolves, encircling them, and then drew closer, engaging them.

Now King Eldred saw more than bestial ferocity in the eyes of his assailants, and saw growing dismay. They had been out-maneuvered, and only had a narrowing gap of escape near the east end of the ring. A snarl from their leader would be all it took for them to get out.

"Close the breach! Tighten the circle, don't let any of the beasts escape!" King Eldred shouted. The centaurs hastened to obey, but it was too late. The werewolves started emptying out from the ring, about half of them getting through before the centaurs closed in on the gap.

The remaining werewolves fought with the tenacity of cornered beasts, flinging themselves on the centaurs with dangerous abandon. The werewolves lunged at the centaurs' throats, never to release their grip even after their death. Several centaurs managed to save themselves and slay the werewolves before this happened, but many more were much less fortunate. The remaining centaurs quickly revenged their fallen comrades, but the beasts kept their deadly mouthfuls.

A silence fell on the forest. The battle-song died in King Eldred's heart, and he suddenly felt very weak as he gazed upon the fallen. There was young Fieldwind, who had played the flute so merrily last week, and brave Hillsinger, who had slain four werewolves before he had finally been brought down like a deer. Only eleven of the twenty centaurs that had come with King Eldred from camp remained.

The battle-song in King Eldred's soul had died forever. Now it would only weep.

"We must mourn for our comrades later, my friends. First we must wipe out this menace from Narnia, and ensure they never reach the icy demonland that is their home. It would be but a small trade for the lives of our companions if Narnia was safe forever afterward." King Eldred called. "The wounded should make their way back to camp, if they can. The rest of us will go after the fleeing werewolves. They should be out of the forest by now, so we will be able to use our best tactics against them. Who can follow me?"

Nine centaurs raised their hands wearily, the other two, Riveroak and Greenwood, despite protests of their soundness, were ordered back to the camp because of their injuries. They reluctantly started limping away from the battle-field.

"Very well, you remaining, follow me now, swiftly!" King Eldred called, flourishing his sword in the air and galloping to the north. His remaining centaurs galloped after him, bellowing grief-stricken cries of revenge.

The trail wasn't hard to follow, as many of the werewolves seemed to be wounded and bled on the thick vegetation. The King had to go around several thick thickets that his horse and the centaurs couldn't get through, but he could hear the howls of the werewolves ahead, and knew he was getting closer.

"Don't engage them in the forest, they can maneuver too easily in the trees. Chase them out into the open, and wear them down. Don't get any closer than necessary." King Eldred instructed in a hoarse shout as he rode. He gripped his sword tighter, as his hands were beginning to ache, unused to the stress laid upon them in the last hour.

Suddenly, they were upon the werewolves. There were about ten beasts left, and they were clearly becoming exhausted, with slaver flecking their tangled grey coats. They leapt forward with greater speed when they saw the King and his centaurs, panting heavily.

The centaurs were beginning to tire as well, however, and the distance widened again. However, this was a good thing, as the centaurs were able to head the werewolves off when they suddenly tried to double back deeper into the forest.

Quite suddenly, the centaurs burst out from the trees and out into the open plain. The grey shapes of the werewolves were rapidly streaking to the north, and with a whoop of joy at being able to fight in their element, the centaurs redoubled their effort. At a gesture from the King, they formed into a V-shaped formation, with King Eldred at its head.

They galloped across the yellowing grass, their weariness almost forgotten with their goal in sight. With whoops and cries, they thundered on the plain, presenting a terrifying figure.

The werewolves, seeing that fleeing further was futile, suddenly stopped nearby a hill and braced themselves.

King Eldred smiled suddenly, realizing what they were expecting. They were anticipating a full-blown, classical cavalry charge. Well, that was one thing the King would deny them of.

He gave another signal with his long sword, and the 'V' closed into a single file. The werewolves grew nearer and nearer with every hoof beat.

Abruptly, King Eldred was upon them. He made a swift cut with his sword, tearing through the closest wolf's skin. He veered his horse violently to the left, and galloped past the mass of werewolves before they could react. His centaurs followed suit, veering randomly left or right to disconcert the creatures. In the aftermath, King Eldred saw that three or four werewolves had been slain.

The werewolves tried to run after them, but the centaurs were too swift. They were no longer in the constricting forest; this was their land, they were as birds in the air. The centaurs wheeled, turning back on the wolves in wide, harrying arcs, just barely in reach. One by one, the werewolves fell.

King Eldred suddenly felt a violent push, and was knocked off his saddle. He fell to the ground, a grey werewolf on top of him. His horse neighed in terror and galloped away, leaving the King to his adversary.

The werewolf snapped at his face, kept only at bay by King Eldred's pushing arms. His sword had fallen beyond his reach, lying on the grass a yard away. His grip suddenly slipped, and the werewolf's jaws leapt forward, barely missing the King's face and biting the soil next to his ear. King Eldred forcefully punched it with his mailed hand, knocking the werewolf off of him. He struggled to his feet, but the man-beast scrabbled up first and lunged at him, maw snapping furiously. However, it didn't make it to King Eldred, as a centaur suddenly ran from the side and reared up, flailing at the werewolf with his hooves. One hoof hit the creature on the skull, knocking it into the grass, which was followed by a quick stab with the centaur's sword. It looked up at King Eldred, and snarled out its final words:

"The Queen! The Great Queen will conquer you!" It laid its head on the grass, eyes dimming.

King Eldred stared at it for a moment, then hurriedly looked around at the remnants of the battle. Two werewolves were still trying to run away in the distance, but were being eagerly pursued by four centaurs. After a little distance, they were dispatched, and the centaurs came running back.

The King of Narnia looked over his victory, and wordlessly went to pick up his sword. With the sword dangling loosely in his hand, he walked in a small circle, surveying the battlefield over and over.

"It is done. Let us return, now." He said at last, barely above a whisper. King Eldred resignedly mounted his horse, and turned back to the forest. The centaurs fell in behind him; mute as the grass they trod on.

Inside of the forest, King Eldred found some of the feeling returning to his grief-numbed body. He had accomplished something, he had stopped the werewolf spies from returning to their mistress, and best of all, had deterred the threat they posed to the creatures of Narnia. Even though it couldn't deter the grief he felt, it dulled its edge.

The King was cheered as he entered the camp with the rest of his troop, and he put on a brave face and smiled at his army. It wouldn't do to have his army see their King, their champion, as a grief-stricken, tired old man. King Eldred was heartened to see the wounded centaurs come back safe and sound, and gave them a brief commendation but left them to their own means. Centaurs were extremely skilled physicians, and could be trusted to tend to themselves far better than anything else.

King Eldred went to his tent soon afterward, wishing to be left alone with his thoughts. At first, the sorrow threatened to overwhelm him, but he couldn't let it. This struggle was only beginning, only the first skirmish settled, and this was no time to start being a weepy old dotard.

The King spent a short moment to compose himself, and then went outside to look for Areto. He found the Fawn sitting on the grass underneath the boughs of the Tree of Protection, playing on a flute as if the green leaves above him gave him inspiration. Areto promptly ceased to play as soon as he saw the King, and stood at attention. King Eldred motioned him to sit again, and sat down on the turf next to Areto, sighing as his bones complained of the work. He looked up into the branches of the Tree and said,

"My father once used to take me and my mother here, on holidays. We'd stay and give feasts to all the folk in Lantern Wastes, and poetry and songs were spread everywhere like sunlight. My father never fought any battles, he never held a weapon except for in the glorious jousts he hosted." King Eldred reflected on his memory for a space, and then turned more grim.

"We need more allies, if we hope to defeat the White Witch. Areto, I need you to send for the Buffin brothers, the Pire Eagles, and the Boar of Beruna. Use the Squirrels, the Birds, anyone. Also, go send another messenger to the Wolves, repeating our urgent need for their alliance." King Eldred said. "Go now, send all the messengers before the hour's out."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Areto said, leaping up and running away through the camp on his dainty hooves without bothering to observe the niceties of departing from the King.

King Eldred sat under the Tree of Protection for about an hour, and departed to his tent as the sun touched the western hills to rest.

Author's Note: Sorry for leaving you with a cliffhanger anyway, despite all my efforts. I've been very distracted, and nowadays not just by webcomics. I've taken up running D&D adventures with my sisters, and online as well. Also, school's become more taxing.

In response to the reviews, yes, King Eldred was based in part on King Theoden, but I tried not to draw too heavily on him. I drew more examples from Prester John, the aged king from the Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn series by Tad Williams.


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